


Between Wake and Slumber

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Incest, M/M, Mild consent issues/talk, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not even fully awake, barely able to form coherent thoughts and not able at all to form coherent sentences. He can feel, though, and it feels damn good. (Pre-series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Wake and Slumber

**Author's Note:**

> Initially written in May 2014.

It feels good.

Lincoln’s cock inside him, Lincoln’s hand around him, Lincoln’s mouth into his neck, Lincoln’s body and heat all over him.

It feels good. A bit painful too, because his jerk of a brother probably didn’t bother using any kind of lubricant before sliding into him, but it’s the best kind of painful. The kind where he’s stretched and warmed and he will feel Linc all day long, remembering how his day started every time he sits and gets up and walks and—

He hasn’t agreed to that. He’s not even fully awake, barely able to form coherent thoughts and not able at all to form coherent sentences.

He can feel, though, and it feels fucking good.

He’s lying half on his stomach, half on his side, his left hand is still tied to the bedpost with a loose silk scarf from last night’s endeavors and his right arm is stuck under his and Linc’s conjugated weighs. There isn’t much he can do to make it stop anyway.

It probably shouldn’t be such a turn-on. Probably. But so many things involving Linc shouldn’t be a turn-on, one more won’t make such a difference.

He grumbles though, as a matter of principle, that he didn’t agree to a cock inside him and a hand around him at eight on a sunny Saturday morning after having been thoroughly fucked last night. He’s still sore and messy, for crying out loud, because Lincoln, pounded into him, filled him to the brim, and didn’t leave him with enough strength or energy to get up and clean up a bit.

Okay, he’s not that eloquent. He just grumbles, “Could’ve asked before...” and Lincoln chuckles into his ear.

“When was the last time you didn’t want it?”

Bastard. What makes it even worse is that Lincoln’s right. He rarely, if never, _not_ wants it.

“You like it anyway, don’t you? That I don’t ask.”

His pace is maddeningly slow. Michael can feel every millimeter of the thick pole of flesh pushing in to the hilt and sliding almost out, how silky and hard and burning hot it is. Lincoln isn’t _such_ a bastard, however, because his hold around Michael’s own erection tightens a bit, moving and stroking just the way Michael likes best.

“That I help myself like I can’t help it.”

Michael flushes. It doesn’t matter because his face is buried in his pillow, his cheeks ruddy from last night, from sleep and from the current fucking. He can peg the blushing to any of those reasons, even though both he and Lincoln know better. He does like it. He loves it. He so often feels like the needier one in that fuck up relationship of theirs, some reciprocity is nice — and by nice, he means enough of a turn-on to say things he wouldn’t usually even think.

“Yes,” he admits.

Lincoln grins at the acknowledgment and gives a rough thrust that makes Michael groan. “Good,” he rasps out, “because I’m going to keep you in this bed all weekend and this is exactly what I’m going to do with you: fuck you whenever I feel like it, any way I feel like it, as many times as I feel like it. I won’t ask for any permission, just help myself as much as I want.”

Fuck. Lincoln’s cock and hand and whole body had been undoing him fast and hard, but the words, the dirty whisper, the possessive claim? _Fuck_.

“Sound good you to you?” Michael nods his head and rolls his hips with the same eagerness, triggering another chuckle and a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck. “Come on, Mike... Come for your big brother. Then you can go back to sleep and I can keep having my fun with you. And you know what, you’d better clench that pretty ass of yours when I’m done because that load is the only lube you’ll get when I fuck you again in a couple of hours. So you may want to keep it in, huh?”

The litany of unabashed promises and plan for the upcoming couple of days goes on for a little while. Goes on until Michael rears up and shouts in his pillow, spills over Lincoln’s hand and desperately squeezes the hard cock inside him.

He falls into a half-slumber half-stupor before Lincoln even comes. He can feel and hear it from afar, his brother filling him up again, hot and sloppy, panting in pleasure and whispering about love and devotion when minutes ago he was pouring out the nastiest words in his nastiest tone.

This — this is better than good, this feels beyond words. Maybe in a couple of hours, Michael should pretend he’s asleep and revel in whatever Lincoln confesses.

END

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